


Wildfire

by BSparrow



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, no zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSparrow/pseuds/BSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Stray". Daryl and Carol left it all behind to start a new life together but there's no escaping the past when it shows up on their doorstep. Rated for strong and/or offensive language (Dixon mouth) and some violence. AU, no zombies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The clock went off at 4:30 am.

It was quickly silenced but Daryl still grumbled.

“Fucking clock,” he mumbled under his breath, rolling over to ease the aching in his back which he was too damn young for anyway. “Fucking clock needs a fucking bullet in its face.”

Next to him, Carol slipped out of bed, quiet as a mouse, and slid his old t-shirt over her head. It was too damn hot to sleep with clothes on this time of year. Hell, he thought it was too damn hot to even wear them around the house but she insisted.

Hearing her quiet footsteps, he turned to watch her as he did every morning. In the dim blue light he could just make out the soft swell of her breasts and the gentle curves of her hips through the white cotton, worn thin by time.

His shirt was pulling tight over her belly these days, something he knew she was self-conscious about for reasons he couldn’t understand. He thought she was still pretty as a picture. He didn’t give a damn about the size of her waist.

As she rounded the bed, letting her fingers trail up his leg, he squeezed his eyes shut and pretended to sleep.

She stopped beside him, ruffling his hair with her fingers as she pressed a kiss on his forehead, “Morning, sleepyhead.”

He just grunted in reply but caught her hand in his as she turned away, letting the touch linger until her fingertips slipped out of his reach.

He laid there for a while, drifting in and out of sleep and listening to her puttering around the kitchen. Finally the smell of bacon sizzling got to be too much for him and he found himself in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning his head on her shoulder to press his own good morning kiss on her neck.

She reached back to rest her hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into her touch like a cat as she stirred the scrambled eggs around the pan.

“We’re running a little low on food,” she told him apologetically. “I only had two eggs this morning. I’ll have to run to the store as soon as you get paid.”

He nodded but his jaw clenched as he watched her put most of the food on his plate, keeping only a small portion for herself. This month they’d had to choose between buying groceries and buying a part to fix his damned truck so they could go to the store to buy the damned groceries. He was still pissed off about it.

He picked up his fork and knife and carefully divided his food in half, pushing one portion aside. She sat down across from him, nibbling on a piece of toast. He could feel her watching him quizzically but she didn’t ask any questions and just smiled when he met her eyes.

“It’ll be better next month,” she promised softly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.

He nodded, his jaw still tight as he shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. He didn’t see how next month would be any different than this one. It would only be something else by then. Hell, his whole truck would probably fall apart before then. It seemed like they just couldn’t get ahead and now…he looked across the table at her and sighed, watching her watching him like he hung the fucking moon.

Irritated as he was, and he _was_ irritated, the look in her eyes eased the tension in his shoulders. He finished off his orange juice and stood up, pushing his still half-full plate across the table to her.

She looked surprised, “Daryl! You barely ate anything! Sit back down.”

“I ate plenty,” he told her, stopping by her chair to button his shirt. “You finish it.”

“No, you need to eat! You’ve got to work all day. Really, I’m fine,” she insisted, trying to push the plate back towards him.

He grabbed her wrist to stop her and shook his head, “Stop. Eat. You need it more’n I do.”

She opened her mouth but he bent over and pressed a kiss against her open lips before she had time to continue her protest.

But her voice still followed him out the door and as he stepped into the pale early morning light, he had a smile on his face.

* * *

 

It had only been a year since he’d watched his past fade away in the rearview but it felt like a lifetime. They’d drifted around a little after that, bouncing from place to place. They’d been lucky to land here, in a small town just a few hours down the road from their old hometown. Carol had been the one to spot the hand-painted sign on the roadside, “Peach Pickers Wanted”.

It was meant to be a temporary job, just for the season. But even after all the other pickers had moved on, the owner had kept him around and made him the “caretaker” for all that dumbass title was worth. Mr. Winters was getting on in years; he wasn’t able to maintain the place anymore so it fell on Daryl to take care of things.

Mr. Winter had told him he kept him on because he “had an honest face” but Daryl knew that was bullshit. The only reason they were still there was because of Carol. Mrs. Winter had really taken a shine to her and had wanted them to stick around.

The pay wasn’t much but they had a good place to stay, in a shabby singlewide trailer nestled back behind the main house in the pines at the edge of the property line. Everything in the trailer was worn but Carol had made it look real nice. It was home now. Mrs. Winter was always giving her hand-me-down furniture and “secondhand” clothes with the tags still on them.

She gave Carol some cash too, for helping out around the house, especially when they were entertaining guests.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad deal. It was just enough to help them get their footing but Daryl wasn’t content to just get by. He wanted more for Carol.

She deserved more. 

* * *

 

Carol finished Daryl’s breakfast in the silent kitchen and felt guilty. If only he wasn’t so damn stubborn. She imagined him out there working all day with his stomach growling and resolved to scrounge up something good and filling for supper even though the cabinets were looking a little bare.

Money was stretched pretty thin lately, especially now that…

She sighed, dropping the dishes into the sink and running hot water over them until the soap bubbled up. Outside the window, she could see the sun beginning to peek over the trees. It turned the sky gold and made the dewdrops on the green pine needles shine like a million diamonds.

Even if she had known she would have to go hungry, and Daryl made sure she never did, she’d have still chosen this life in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t sound like much of a choice to anyone who hadn’t walked in her shoes, choosing between an abuser like her ex-husband and a wonderful man like Daryl, but she knew firsthand how hard it could be to leave the numb comfort of a daily routine, even if it was for a better life.

But she didn’t even like to think about her past. It was a dark cloud on her blue horizon, a big, black ink stain on her pristine white page. Sometimes it seemed like someone else’s life, snapshots from someone else’s slideshow. And sometimes, sometimes it was still too real, like a fresh bruise.

She headed to the bathroom for a shower but was loath to take off Daryl’s t-shirt. It smelled like him – that sharp, sweet, soapy scent that was forever etched into her brain from the first time she touched him. She only had to smell it to see the blue of his eyes and feel his trembling fingers.

It was strange, she thought to herself. She would have thought the fire would have died down after a year but it was still going strong, flickering through her veins every time they touched.

She still got butterflies every time he walked through the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the sun began to sink towards the horizon, Daryl had made some good progress on replacing the old fencing.

He straightened up and groaned as he stretched, feeling the bones in his back and shoulders shift, grind together, and pop back into place. He stopped to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and glanced up at the setting sun. It was getting late; Carol would have supper waiting on him.

He smiled to himself, consumed with thoughts of her as he bent to work the last post of the day out of the soft red clay.

He should have noticed the motorcycle. He was supposed to be observant like that. And maybe some small part of him w _as_ aware that it had passed by him twice now. It was only strange because there wasn't much traffic on this winding country back road.

But as it passed a third time, slower and closer, and pulled into the driveway, he finally took notice.

He glanced at it out of the corner of his eye and grunted as he shifted the post back and forth, trying to work it loose. The man on the bike studied him from behind dark sunglasses, arms crossed over his chest.

Daryl cursed under his breath and turned back to his work. With one more good yank, the post came free and he tossed it behind him in line with the others.

As he peeled off his work gloves, he heard the man on the bike call out to him in a raspy voice, "Hey, señor-o, got any peaches?"

"Ain't in season," Daryl replied gruffly, wiping his hands on his pants as he turned to face the man. "Come back in a – "

The words died on his lips as the man ripped off his sunglasses, staring at him in shock.

He stared back, feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, "Merle?"

And then his brother was swinging his leg over the bike and closing the distance between them to punch him in the shoulder – his own particular brand of violent affection.

Pain shot down his arm but he fought the urge to rub his shoulder as his brother shoved him again, eyeing him up and down. He could see now that his brother was wearing a leather vest with angel wings down the back. His hair was buzzed short, close to the skull. He figured that particular style was probably prison-issued.

"Well, I'll be damned, little brother!" Merle rasped out, "What you doing here? They got you out here working like a damn wetback?"

"It's a job," Daryl shrugged, shielding his eyes with his hand to get a better look at his brother, "Thought you was still locked up down in Milledgeville."

Merle smirked, pulling a cigarette out from behind his ear and lighting up, "Got out three months ago, boy. You'd know that if you'd ever bothered to visit ol' Merle."

Daryl glanced over his shoulder at the trailer. He could just make out the kitchen window and knew Carol was waiting on him somewhere behind it.

"Been busy," he mumbled, chewing at his bottom lip as he met his brother's eyes again. "What you doing up this way anyhow?"

"What? You ain't glad to see your big brother?" Merle asked, his lip curling into a sneer as he blew a plume of smoke into Daryl's face.

Daryl waved it away, eyes on the ground, "Ain't that."

"Well, let me tell you something, little brother. I sure didn't expect you to be here. I – it's…hell, it's just meant to be," Merle shook his head then tilted it back to look up into the sun. He threw his arms out wide, his voice booming across the empty field like a Baptist preacher on a Sunday morning. "God sent me here, boy! I'm telling you, it's fate!"

His brother had finally lost his marbles. He'd fried his damn brain with too much speed.

"Fate, brother. That's all there is to it."

Daryl just squinted at him. He knew Merle better than that. He wasn't stupid enough to believe it was just dumb luck that brought him here. He had to be up to something. Merle was always up to something.

A long moment passed in silence before Daryl glanced back at the kitchen window again.

"Well, uh, Carol'll be making supper," he told his brother. "If you're sticking around, I'll go tell her to fix you a plate."

"Carol, huh?" Merle's eyes caught his like a snake catches a rabbit. "And who's Carol? Your boss-lady?"

"No, Carol's my…" Daryl stopped, searching for just the right word to describe her. They weren't married but girlfriend just didn't do her justice. "Carol's my…Carol," he finished lamely.

Merle snorted at that and punched him in the shoulder again, "Your Carol. Well, you go tell _your_ Carol to fix ol' Merle a nice big plate because I'm sure as shit sticking around."

Daryl nodded and left his brother leaning against a fencepost, smoking like a chimney and muttering to himself about God and fate. He marched home on autopilot, putting one foot in front of the other even though his head was swimming.

It was like someone had hit him in the face with a shovel.

His head ached and his insides felt all jittery, like a shaken up can of Coke. He wasn't sure if he wanted to find Carol and let her hold him for an hour or two or if he wanted to run away and hide like a kid.

But his feet carried him up the front steps and into the kitchen where he found her elbow-deep in sudsy water. She was staring out the window with what his Grandma, his mama's mama from Savannah, would have called a "Mona Lisa smile". It was the kind that made him wonder what she was thinking. Probably shit far beyond the reach of a dumbass like him.

It was growing dark in the house but the late afternoon sun pouring through the window was fire in her hair. It danced across her features and dappled gold the white sundress she'd taken to wearing around the house these days. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her scrub another pan. She was an angel and he had dirt under his fingernails.

She saw him as she reached for the dish towel and turned that smile on him. It damn near knocked him on his ass.

"Hungry?" she asked, wiping her hands dry.

He nodded, standing there like a bump on a log as she moved around the kitchen. She filled two glasses with iced tea and then put their plates on the table, chattering about almost burning the cornbread.

"I got something to tell you," he interrupted, chewing at his thumbnail.

She looked up sharply, brows knitting together as she studied his face, and then she sat down hard at the table.

Behind him, he heard the front door swing open and slam into the wall. The sound reverberated through the house like a gunshot and they both jumped.

"Alright, Darlena, I don't smell no food cooking!" his brother's voice echoed through the small trailer as he stomped through the living room. "Where the hell's your woman at, little brother?"

Daryl saw Carol's brows lift but before he could speak, Merle was standing beside him with a cigarette still dangling precariously from his lips. Daryl's chest ached; it seemed like his brother had sucked all the air out of the room.

Daryl's eyes sought Carol's immediately, as they always did, and he found her smiling.

"You must be Merle," she said sweetly.

Merle's eyes flickered back and forth between the two of them before finally settling on her. His face cracked into a smirk and he sidled towards the table, hand extended.

"In the flesh," he told her with a wink that somehow managed to look obscene. His gravelly voice smoothed into velvet as he continued. "Now you just go ahead and let me know if baby brother here ain't getting it done for you, sweetheart. I'll take real good care of you."

He dragged his tongue slowly across his bottom lip in a gesture no doubt meant to emphasize the meaning behind his words.

Carol's eyes met Daryl's and he swallowed hard, looking away quickly.

"Oh, I think he's getting it done just fine," she told his brother with a smile as she slowly stood, revealing her protruding belly, " _Uncle_ Merle."

And for once in his life, Merle Dixon was speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

Carol studied the man across the table from her, watching him shovel food into his mouth like he'd been raised in a barn. And who was to say he hadn't? She still didn't know much about their childhood but she knew it'd been tough.

She and Daryl didn't linger on the past. There was too much to look forward to these days for them to dwell on what had been. But that didn't mean she wasn't curious.

And Daryl's brother was a strange character. He was about the same height as Daryl but he had a thicker build, more packed with muscle, though she couldn't imagine him working out or working hard.

She figured he was probably about five years older than her which would have made him ten years older than his brother. But he certainly looked older than her estimate of 34. He had thin lips, small, angry eyes, and skin that seemed to be stretched tight over his skull and the prominent bones in his face. He had dark circles under his eyes that gave her the impression that he hadn't slept in days. It gave him an almost ghoulish appearance under the harsh overhead light.

He cleared his throat and, realizing she was staring, she quickly looked back down at her food.

"So when you due, woman?"

She glanced up at him in surprise and found he was now cleaning his fingernails with his pocketknife.

"I've got about twelve weeks left," she said proudly, her hand automatically resting on her stomach and her eyes finding Daryl's. "Won't be long now."

She could see the tips of Daryl's ears reddening but he smiled at her.

Merle let out a low whistle, "Shit. When'd y'all even get together? Couldn't have been too long. I was only locked up for two years."

"We've been together for a little over a year now," she answered when it became clear that Daryl wasn't going to. "But we met almost two years ago."

Her mind drifted back to her countless visits to the garage and all the money she spent on that damned Cherokee just trying to get him to say one word to her.

"Hell, I went into Milledgeville with a brother that couldn't get laid to save his life and came out an uncle," Merle chuckled but his eyes seemed hard. "Don't waste no time, do ya?"

"It wasn't planned," she said, managing to tear her gaze away from Daryl long enough to look at his brother, "It wasn't planned but we were happy about it."

Merle didn't seem to have a reply to that and went back to digging the dirt out from under his fingernails.

"So what brings you here, Merle?" she asked after a moment to fill the silence. "Are you planning on staying a while?"

He glanced up at her from under his lids and then looked back down at his knife, "Don't know yet."

"Don't know which?" she asked and he looked up at her again.

He folded the knife up, glancing over at his brother with a thoughtful expression on his face, "Both. Either."

"You don't know what brought you here?" Daryl snorted.

Merle glared at him, "Already told you. I reckon it was fate that brought me here, I just ain't got it all figured out yet."

Carol raised her brows, "To be honest with you, Merle, I wouldn't have pegged you for a man of faith."

She smiled at him again but he either didn't notice or didn't care. His expression remained stony.

"He ain't. Bet you he ain't set foot in a church since Mama died."

"Ain't gotta be a believer to see that things happen for a reason," Merle protested. She saw a devilish gleam flashing in his eyes as he leaned his elbows on the table and fixed his brother in his sights, "Reckon with all that talk and this nice lady you got here, you're a regular on Sunday mornings now."

"Fuck that," Daryl mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Merle cackled and Carol shook her head, trying to hide a smile, "You know I hate that word, Daryl."

He peeked at her sheepishly from under his shaggy hair and then looked back down at his plate as he muttered, "Sorry."

Merle glanced back and forth between them, "Damn, Darlena, is she your mama too?"

"Shut up," Daryl told him, stabbing at his food with more force than was strictly necessary.

Merle leaned across the table to smack his brother in the back of the head and Daryl slapped his hand away.

"Boys," she chastised them, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip of her tea.

Daryl went back to eating and she went back to casting around desperately for something to talk about. It seemed to her that every possible normal topic of conversation was rigged with a land mine, just waiting to blow if she stumbled into it. It wasn't like she could just ask Merle what he'd been up to. She wasn't sure she wanted to discuss the horrors of prison at the dinner table.

But Merle saved her when he fixed that predatory gaze on her again, "So tell me this, woman. What's so damn special about you?"

Taken aback, she stared at him for a moment before answering, "What do you mean?"

"Well, my baby brother ain't never showed much interest in women before," Merle told her, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Hell, I ain't ever known him to even bring a woman home."

"That's 'cause you'da fucked 'em if I did," Daryl muttered under his breath.

"You probably right about that, little brother!" Merle cackled. "Hell, I fucked his teacher when he was a kid! What was that…fifth grade? Sixth?"

If Carol hadn't been watching Daryl closely, if she didn't have his every feature memorized, she would have missed the way Daryl's jaw tightened; the way his eyes shut down like a steel door had closed behind them.

Merle certainly missed it. He continued as if nothing was wrong,

"She was a cute little brunette. Had a nice ass on her too. Shit," he sat back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile on his face, obviously enjoying reliving old times. "Didn't she move you out of her class when I was done with her?"

Daryl didn't speak, just stared down at his plate. And though she didn't understand it, Carol's heart ached for him.

Merle continued talking but to her it seemed the room had fallen silent. After a few moments, she stood up and took her plate to the sink.

She watched the two brothers from across the room, one relaxed and one wound so tightly she was afraid he might snap. Maybe if she left them alone for a while they'd be able to talk. Maybe Daryl would be more relaxed without her watching him.

She excused herself, squeezing Daryl's shoulder as she passed, and headed to the bathroom with a book, planning to soak in the tub and give them some space.

* * *

Her bathwater didn't even have time to cool before she heard a crash in the kitchen that sounded a lot like a plate shattering. It was followed almost immediately by a cacophony noise and shouting.

She was still trying to climb carefully from the tub when she very clearly, very distinctly heard Daryl's yelp of pain. Sloshing water all over the floor, she scrambled for a towel and rushed towards the kitchen.

Pushing open the door with her heart in her throat, she found Merle pinning his brother to the floor with the greatest of ease, laughing as Daryl struggled in vain beneath him. She could see that Daryl's face was red, contorted with anger and pain. And then she noticed that Merle had his arm curled casually around his brother's neck, squeezing his windpipe.

"Think you can swing on me, boy? Huh?" Merle's mouth was close to his brother's ear, his teeth gritted, but she could still hear his words clearly. "You done got too big for your britches, baby brother."

Daryl made a gurgling sound and her stomach lurched. She didn't stop to entertain the idea that it might just be a little bit of brotherly roughhousing – all she could think was that Daryl couldn't breathe.

"Get off of him, Merle! You're hurting him!"

Merle glanced up at her, his laughter fading, "Well, look at you, woman! Ain't you a sight?"

"Stop it, Merle!" she clutched the towel to her chest with one hand and tugged at his shoulder with the other. "You're hurting him! He can't breathe!"

Daryl's gurgle turned into a strangled whimper as Merle tightened his grip, shrugging Carol off, "He's my little brother. You just stay the hell out of it, woman. Ain't your place."

Her towel was slipping but she didn't care. She saw red.

She shoved at Merle with all of her strength and screamed, "I said get the hell off of him!"

Her shove barely moved him but he looked up at her in shock, his arm loosening around Daryl's neck as he rocked back on his heels.

Daryl collapsed face-down on the linoleum, gasping and wheezing for air. She itched to touch him, to see if he was okay, but somehow she knew her sympathy wouldn't be welcome right now. And she was right.

He climbed unsteadily to his feet, his chest heaving, his fists clenched and his face red with rage. He glared at his brother, ignoring her completely as he stomped out of the kitchen. Carol winced as the front door slammed behind him.

"Wouldn't have thought you had it in you, woman," Merle said from the floor. "Wasn't like I was gonna kill him."

"I put up with too much for too long," she told him, wrapping her arms around herself and tugging her towel back in place. She stared after Daryl for a long moment before looking back at his brother. "I'm not sitting back and watching you hurt him. He's been hurt enough."

He gave her a long, hard look and then stood up, his mouth an angry slash across his face. He towered over her; a man who knew how to use every last of inch of his height to his advantage. But she stood her ground, eyeing him with contempt.

"What, you think he's a little angel? You think he's just a kid?" he asked in a low voice. "Well, you listen to me, sugar. That boy ain't no angel."

She just stared back at him, unwavering, and his lips curled into a smirk.

"Yeah, I bet there's plenty of shit he ain't told you. I bet there's a whole lot you don't know about my little brother. Hell, he might be the sweet one between the two of us but I could tell you shit that would make your hair curl, woman."

She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes without hesitation though she had no doubt he could see her trembling, "I know everything I need to know about him. I know he's a good man."

Merle's eyes narrowed, his lips parting to speak. But then he pressed them together again into that hard, angry line, his eyes still searching her face. And then he turned away, wrenching open the door and stomping off down the front steps.

The door rattled on its hinges as it slammed shut again and she sighed. They'd have to replace it if the Dixons kept this up.

* * *

She cleaned up the mess in the kitchen under the sickly yellow glow of the overhead light, her lower back aching something awful.

When Daryl still hadn't returned, she waddled down the front steps and paused at the bottom, listening to the sounds of the woods just to make sure the damn fools weren't out there killing each other. But she heard no struggle, no voices - just the low thrum of the crickets in the trees.

She waited for him for two hours at the kitchen table, staring at the pages of the book she'd been intending to read without seeing a word on them. When the clock flashed 11 pm she brushed her teeth and climbed into bed.

The house was silent and the bed felt strange without him in it. It was too big; too empty.

She tossed and turned for a while but sleep wouldn't come. A hard, heavy knot of worry had settled itself in the pit of her stomach and wouldn't leave.

She was just about to get up and find the spare set of truck keys so she could go look for him when she heard the front door open. Heavy footsteps made their way across the living room and down the hall. She sat up, eyes on the bedroom door.

The footsteps stopped, a moment ticked by, and then the door eased open.

Across the dark room, she could see him hesitating in the doorway.

"Didn't wanna wake you," he murmured hoarsely, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

She just smiled and patted the bed beside her, "It's okay. Come on."

He dipped his head, stripping off his shirt as he crossed the small room. She heard the heavy thump of his boots hitting the floor as he toed them off and kicked them aside while unbuttoning his jeans.

She scooted over to make room and he climbed into bed, stretching out beside her with a groan. He smelled like the woods with just a hint of cigarette smoke. She figured he must have snuck a few from one of his hidden packs while he was out brooding.

"Didn't have to wait up on me," he mumbled, shifting beside her as he tried to get comfortable.

"I couldn't sleep without you," she told him drowsily, her eyelids suddenly heavy now that she had him safely at her side.

He continued to squirm beside her, seemingly restless, but her lids had already slipped closed. She was nearly asleep when he spoke, his voice barely more than a low rumble in his chest.

"It was Miss Hall."

"Hm?"

"My teacher…"

"Oh," wakefulness slammed into her brain like a runaway train and she turned to study him in the darkness, where he lay with his back to her. He'd never brought up the past like this. "Oh…I'd like to hear about her."

She laid her hand on his arm and felt him shrug, "She was…nice, I reckon. I had her class right around the time my mama died. She…"

He fell silent again and she rubbed his shoulder, waiting patiently for him to process his thoughts.

"She said I had potential," he finally said, snorting at that word like it didn't matter. But his voice was quiet and a little shaky and she knew it did. "Said I's smarter than I realized…used to bring me books and shit. Stuff with titles I couldn't even pronounce."

He was trying to sound careless but his body was rigid next to hers.

"She sounds like a very good teacher," Carol told him softly, afraid to push him too much. "Want to tell me what happened?"

He shrugged again, the muscles in his arm tight under her palm. Unsure of how to make it all better, she wrapped herself around him, hand over his pounding heart, and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

He covered her hand with his own, blowing out a noisy breath through his nose, "Ain't much to talk about. Merle found the books so I told him 'bout her. He didn't give a shit 'til I told him how pretty she was. Then wouldn't you know it, that sumbitch wanted to go down to the schoolhouse and meet her."

She pressed a kiss against his warm skin as he fell quiet again.

"Reckon they hit it off," he mumbled. "Think he was about 20 or 21 then and crazier'n a run-over dog. Hell, he's still crazier'n a run-over dog."

She chuckled in agreement and Daryl's fingers slipped into the spaces between her own, clutching her hand to him tight.

"She doesn't sound like the type of woman who'd go for Merle," Carol mused, forming a picture of the woman in her head and finding it impossible to match that image up with Daryl's brother.

He shook his head, "I reckon she must'a thought he was something he wasn't. Merle's got himself a way with words."

"So I've noticed," Carol smiled against his shoulder.

"Couldn't have lasted long though," he continued, "Never does with Merle. I never saw her 'round the house or nothing. Just showed up on Monday morning and one of the women from the front office told me to go to Mr. Harvey's class instead. And he was a real asshole…told me I might as well drop out."

On its surface, it didn't sound like much of a story. But she could tell it was still painful for him, even all these years later. It was obvious in the tone of his voice, the feel of his body against hers.

And it hadn't escaped her, what he'd said about it happening around the same time as his mother's death. She realized suddenly that it wasn't about having a crush on the pretty young teacher. What must it have been like for him to have a woman showing him kindness, a woman believing in him so soon after the loss of the only warmth he'd ever known and then, out of the blue, rejecting him and taking that kindness away? It must have been devastating, she thought, especially for a person with scars as deep as Daryl's.

She held him tighter, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

He squirmed, suddenly seeming uncomfortable under her touch, "She was just a teacher…weren't no big deal. It don't matter."

"It does matter," she argued. "It wasn't right. It wasn't fair to you. Merle probably didn't think about your feelings or – or how it would hurt you."

"Ain't never thought about nobody else's feelings in his life," Daryl muttered under his breath.

"I'm sure that's not true…I think he does care about you. He just – he just has a funny way of showing it."

He didn't respond and she twirled her fingers through the soft hair on his chest.

"I think he has his own demons, Daryl," she told him softly, remembering his brother's hard eyes as she looked at his face in the darkness.

He seemed to consider that for a while, his own eyes distant.

"Maybe."


	4. Chapter 4

He was in the barn, gassing up the lawnmower, when he felt someone's eyes on him. Straightening up stiffly, he turned to find Merle leaning in the doorway. He'd left his brother snoring on the couch this morning. Carol banging around in the kitchen making breakfast hadn't even been enough to wake his ass.

He hadn't wanted to leave her there alone with Merle all day but she'd assured him she could handle his brother. He believed her; it wasn't like his brother was a rapist or anything. He just didn't like the thought of her having to put up with Merle's crazy ass all day.

"Working hard, Darlena, or hardly working?" Merle asked and then cackled like it was funny.

Daryl snorted, watching as his brother sidled over to the gleaming John Deere, running his hand along the tractor's huge tire and eyeing it like it was made of gold. Daryl frowned. Merle had never given a shit about farming and tractors.

"Your boss around?" he asked, never taking his eyes off the big machine.

Daryl shook his head, "Went into town to get some fertilizer and shit."

Merle nodded, absently scratching chunks of dried red clay off the tire, "Your little hellcat fixed me breakfast this morning."

Daryl shrugged.

"She's something, ain't she?" Merle chuckled, but didn't mention the previous evening and Daryl was glad. "Where'd you find her?"

Daryl wet his lips, looking down at his shoes as he pictured her in that damn Jeep Cherokee, "She came into the garage. A lot."

"Must'a liked the look of your ugly hide," Merle smirked. His voice softened as he added, "Heard anything outta the old man lately?"

"Nope."

"Heard he was living over in Crawford with some barmaid," Merle told him. "Somebody told me that they heard he's got cancer of the lungs."

"Good."

Merle didn't seem taken aback by that. He just nodded slowly. Daryl could feel his brother studying him for a moment before looking away.

He bent to put the cap back on the gas can, figuring the conversation was over, but Merle didn't leave. He just stood there with his hand on the tractor like he was propping it up or something.

"You gotta work tomorrow?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah, half a day since it's Saturday," Daryl told him, eyeing the grass outside that needed cutting.

"Well, come on and hit the town with ol' Merle tonight," his brother said. "You all wound up tighter than a fucking coil, boy. Need to get out from under the ol' ball and chain for a while."

"Ain't got the money, Merle," Daryl told him stiffly.

Merle rolled his eyes, "Don't you worry your pretty little head 'bout that. Ol' Merle'll take care of it."

Daryl shot him a look of disbelief, wiping the sweat from his forehead. One night his brother puts him in a chokehold and the next he's taking him out on the town, his treat? But that was Merle for you, always full of surprises. And never, ever good for a bar tab.

"It'll be like the old days," Merle chuckled, knocking his fist against the tire. "Remember? We used to take on every drunk in the place, just the two of us. Didn't need nobody else 'cause I could always trust my baby brother to have my back."

Daryl snorted, "Got my ass kicked plenty 'cause of you."

"Had a good time though, didn't we?" Merle smiled his snake-charmer smile and Daryl just shrugged, fighting back a smile of his own.

"Reckon we did."

* * *

Daryl was ready to go. He'd shaved, put on a clean shirt, and combed his hair. Merle had told him they'd head out around 7 and pick up something to eat first. It was 8:30 now and Daryl was still sitting on the couch, watching the clock.

Across the room, Carol stole surreptitious glances at him from beneath her lashes, fingers raw from shelling peas all day. She'd been pleased when Daryl told her that Merle wanted to take him out for a night on the town. It wasn't exactly an apology but she figured it might be the closest he'd ever get.

It also wasn't exactly the ideal outing. Considering their small town had only a Dairy Queen and a bar for entertainment, she could guess where they'd end up. And she figured Merle and bars probably went together about as well as matches and gasoline. But she trusted Daryl to take care of himself even with his big brother around…or at least she told herself she did.

He'd never told her what their fight had been about so she didn't ask. Considering his history with his brother, maybe she didn't want to know.

And she could tell he was looking forward to it, to spending time with Merle, even though he tried to pretend otherwise. He might be a mature, responsible, good man these days but underneath it all he was still just a little brother.

She'd teased him when he first emerged from the bedroom, "Look at you all dressed up! The women down at Murphy's aren't going to be able to keep their hands off of you!"

He'd scoffed at that, tugging at the collar of his shirt as his ears reddened. And she'd quickly found it was true what people said about words spoken in jest. Because as she watched him now, sitting there with those broad shoulders and blue eyes, bouncing his knee impatiently, she worried.

"Don't you tell them that your fat ol' girlfriend is waiting up for you at home," she said with a tight smile, cracking open another pod.

"Ain't gotta wait up," he told her distractedly, standing and crossing to the window. "He probably ain't gonna show anyway."

She waited but he didn't seem to have anything to add and she ended up scraping the peas out of the next pod a little more aggressively than she'd intended. She'd suddenly had quite enough of the stubborn pods, her cracked, red fingers, and just the world in general.

"Don't know what I's expectin'," Daryl muttered. "Can't depend on Merle for nothing 'cept to be undependable."

"I'm sure he'll show," she sighed, giving up on the damn peas and scrubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

He pushed the curtains aside and peered out into the darkness, suddenly standing straighter, "There he is. 'Bout damn time."

She could hear Merle's motorcycle roaring up the drive now. Daryl went to the door, stopped, and came back to kiss her goodbye. She smiled up at him, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle out of his shirt.

"Stop with the damn peas, already," he told her, squeezing her hand. "I'll help you finish 'em tomorrow."

She nodded, tugging at his hand as he turned to go, "Have fun. And be careful."

He smiled and dipped his head to give her one more kiss, "I will. Get you some sleep."

After he'd gone, Carol dragged the peas into the kitchen to blanch what she had and get them in the freezer. Between the steam off the boiling pot and getting splashed with the ice water, she was a wild, frizzy sight by the time she hauled herself into the bathroom to brush her teeth in front of the mirror.

Her skin wasn't handling pregnancy well. She was breaking out along her jawline, nothing a little concealer couldn't take care of. But it seemed her cheeks were always flushed - and not in a youthful, charming way but more like she was turning into a giant tomato.

And she certainly had the figure for it. It wasn't that she minded the belly so much – her baby was in that belly. But the stretch marks were an unpleasant addition – the stretch marks, the swollen ankles, and the recently acquired udders.

Her body was changing in front of her eyes and it was disorienting; it didn't feel like her own anymore.

She was almost sure Daryl hadn't seen the stretch marks yet but he didn't seem to mind the rest.

And frankly, it surprised her. She'd always been led to believe that pregnancy was to be hidden away under oversized clothing. Her mother's generation had treated it like an illness, an embarrassing affliction. And Ed had seemed to find pregnant bodies disgusting, judging by the comments he'd made about their neighbor when she was expecting.

So the possibility of sex with this bulging, changing body had never crossed her mind but Daryl still seemed interested. It had been a little over a week though. It seemed one or both of them were exhausted every night and asleep before their heads hit the pillow. But she knew that wouldn't last forever.

The thought had crossed her mind that maybe he was just trying to make her feel better about herself; he knew she was feeling self-conscious and that was just the sort of thing Daryl would do.

Because he was young, wasn't he? Surely a man like him couldn't really find her body attractive as it was now. Surely the changes seemed as strange and alien to him as they did to her.

She studied herself in the mirror, turning this way and that, but the sight in front of her didn't change.

Sighing, she trudged into the bedroom and dug around in her bottom drawer for something suitable to wear until she got herself figured out.

* * *

A shot glass appeared on the bar in front of Daryl and Merle filled it with whiskey.

"That'll put hair on your chest, boy," he rasped, downing his own like it was mother's milk.

Daryl frowned at the glass, at the amber liquid sloshing inside it, and then threw it back, slamming the empty glass upside down on the bar because it was what Merle always did.

Merle whooped next to him, clapping him hard on the back as Daryl hissed out a breath, "There you go, little brother! Good for what ails ya."

"Ain't nothin' ails me," Daryl told him, fingers tracing the damp edges of the glass.

Merle flipped it over for him and filled it again, "Bullshit, boy. Ain't but 24 and done gone and knocked up the first piece of tail you ever got? If that don't ail ya, ya ain't right."

Daryl glared at his brother but Merle just took another shot. He swallowed his own, finding it went down easier this time.

"Ain't like that," he finally said in a hoarse voice.

Merle snorted, leaning on the bar to stare at him with an amused look on his face, "Ain't like what?"

"Ain't a bad thing," Daryl mumbled. "Reckon money might be a little tight for a while but it's…it's a good thing."

"I ever tell you 'bout the time I thought I's gonna be a daddy?" Merle asked suddenly, eyes on the bottle as he filled his glass again.

"Nope."

"Shit…it was a long time ago. Reckon I was 'bout your age. Girl told me she was expectin' and it was mine 'cause I was her first. Her first and only," Merle scoffed at that. "That there was my first mistake, boy. You stay your ass away from them virgins. If they get ahold of you, they ain't letting go."

Daryl shrugged, looking away.

"I reckon you probably ain't gotta worry about that though. Anyway, she told me she was expectin' and her folks was gonna take us in and pay for the wedding and all that," he cut himself off with a snort of disbelief. "You believin' that, little brother? The wedding!"

Daryl just stared at the empty glass in front of him, watching as it was slowly refilled.

"I went ahead and set her straight…told her there wasn't gonna be no fucking wedding 'cause I ain't the marryin' kind," Merle sucked in a deep breath through his nose, turning on the stool with the whiskey bottle still in his hand to stare out at the half-empty bar. "Scraped together some money and took her up to Atlanta to get the problem taken care of. Never saw her again after that. Heard she moved off and got married."

Daryl glanced over at his brother and saw him tip back the bottle, a strange expression on his face. But it was gone as soon as it appeared and Merle elbowed him in the ribs with a sudden sly smile.

"So you gonna give in and make an honest woman outta your little hellcat?" he asked. "I reckon you might just be the marryin' kind."

"Might be," Daryl shrugged, chasing away visions of Carol in white with another shot. He wouldn't ask her until he could afford to give her a decent wedding. He didn't want to have to do it down at the courthouse. Besides, hell, her divorce had only been final a few months. "You might be too and just don't know it, bro."

Merle shook his head.

"Nah, little brother. Not me," Merle chuckled to himself, changing the subject before Daryl could even blink. "Hey, you 'member that night at The Jug when we got jumped?"

Daryl nodded, thinking back to that shitty, smoky little joint where the beer wasn't much more than piss and water. He hadn't even been 18, much less 21, but the owner didn't give a shit as long as somebody was paying – not that Merle ever did.

That was what had caused them problems that particular night. The owner finally got sick of waiting, demanded payment, and Merle had laughed in his face. Daryl had wanted to leave but Merle had gone right back to drinking. And before they knew what was happening, the owner and his two buddies were in their faces.

One of the guys took a cheap shot at Merle and it didn't do much but hurt the guy's knuckles and piss Merle off. He'd emerged from it all pretty well unscathed but Daryl got a black eye that night and his second or third broken nose.

"I remember. You left me with the biggest damn one," Daryl told him, rubbing his nose absently as he remembered setting it in the rearview mirror of Merle's pickup and then puking in the ditch afterwards.

He could still hear that goddamned mind-numbing dinging sound telling him the door was open.

"That's 'cause I knew you could take him, boy," Merle laughed, throwing his arm around his brother's shoulders and leaning in close, his boozy breath hot on Daryl's face. "And I's right, like always."

Daryl shrugged, ducking his head, "Yeah, well you took care of the other two."

"Wasn't nothin'," Merle muttered. "Reckon we can find us a fight 'round here tonight?"

Daryl groaned, slamming his head down on the bar, "Hell no, Merle. Not tonight."

"Why? D'ya lose your balls somewhere?" Merle taunted him. "Maybe _your_ Carol's got 'em stashed in her pocket."

"Shut up," Daryl told him, covering his head with his hands to block out the sound of his brother's cackling.

* * *

It was late when Daryl pulled into the driveway, cutting his headlights before he pulled up in front of the house so they wouldn't wake Carol.

Merle was slumped against the passenger door, mumbling something over and over.

"What the hell you talkin' 'bout?" Daryl asked grumpily as he shifted the pickup into park and cut the engine.

"'m singing," Merle told him, his voice growing louder until he was howling at the top of his lungs. " _Your lying blue eyes used to charm me…hypnotize me through and through…like a fool, Lord I been dreaming…"_

Daryl groaned, stumbling around to the passenger side to help his brother. When he opened the door, Merle slid out like he didn't have a bone in his body.

Daryl wrapped his arm around Merle's waist and staggered for the front steps while Merle sang in his ear, sounding not unlike a dying cat, " _Hypnotize me…like a fool…your lying blue eyes just told on you…"_

"Shut the fuck up," Daryl hissed, trying to fumble the door open without losing his grip on Merle.

He managed to heave his brother onto the couch and the singing faded as Merle buried his face in the cushion, curling up like a kitten.

He'd thought he was pretty damn sober when he was on the road with a death grip on his steering wheel but navigating the dark hallway made him realize that was not the case.

The bedroom door was open and he could see light flooding out into the hallway. When he reached the doorway, he saw Carol propped up on some pillows, thumbing through a book.

She looked up at him in surprise as he grinned at her and lurched into the room. He stumbled as he kicked off his boots and tripped over his jeans but made it to the bed in one piece.

She marked her page and put the book away then sat calmly watching him as he struggled with the buttons on his shirt.

Eyes swimming in cheap whiskey, he stared down at her for a long moment before he noticed she was wearing the oversized plaid nightdress she usually wore during the winter.

"What you wearin' that for?"

She looked down at it and then up at him, narrowing her eyes as he swayed towards her, "You smell terrible."

He chuckled at that and crawled into bed next to her, leaning over her to turn off the lamp. He heard her sigh and snuck a kiss, threading his fingers through her hair. It was like getting drunk all over again, feeling both her soft, warm lips and her soft, warm body under his.

She let him press her into the pillows, let him palm her breasts through the thin fabric, but as he ran his hands down her body, sliding his fingers under the hem of that plaid monstrosity, she pulled away. He tried again, skimming his fingertips along her thigh, and she caught his wrist.

"Not tonight, Daryl," she told him, sounding tired.

He stared at her face in the darkness but she didn't meet his eyes and he watched as she struggled over onto her side, leaving him to face her back.

He sat there on his heels for a moment before flopping over onto his back, not really turned on enough to feel let down. Instead, he felt…lost. Maybe a little bit bewildered, like he'd missed something.

Did he move too fast? Maybe she didn't feel good. Maybe she was just tired. The thoughts ran through his mind too quickly for him to really grasp them, drowned out by the voice in his head telling him what was really wrong. She didn't want some dumbass stinking of cigarette smoke, with liquor on his breath grabbing on her. Hell, he couldn't blame her for that.

He went from buzzed to stone cold sober in a matter of moments and now he was wishing he still had that bottle of whiskey.

Down the hallway he could hear Merle starting up with his damn warbling again. It was muffled by the walls and probably by the couch cushions but Daryl could still make it out.

" _She's acting siiiingle...I'm drinking double…hide my pain…drown my troubles..."_

Daryl sighed and stared up at the ceiling. It was gonna be a long night.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning air was cool but the sunlight was warm on her face as she tilted it up towards the pink and orange sky, enjoying how beautiful it was this time of morning when the light was still soft.

She'd left Daryl tangled up in the sheets, snoring off his hangover. He looked even younger in the morning light, his face slackened by sleep and his arm thrown over his head. She'd let her hand rest on his chest for just a moment, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breathing and the beating of his heart under her palm, but he didn't stir.

He'd seemed hurt when she pushed him away, or maybe just surprised, but whichever it was, she regretted not taking the time to explain herself. She regretted not letting him know that it wasn't him, that it was just something she needed to work through on her own. She knew how sensitive he was, how filled with self-doubt he had been when she first met him. It wasn't hard to remember the skittish young boy he'd been back then. That boy was still just under the surface of his skin every time she looked at him.

By the time she arrived at the main house, her feet were damp from the dew clinging to every blade of grass along the way and she left her sandals by the door.

Mrs. Winters, Audrey as the woman had told Carol to call her, had asked her to come by this morning. She often asked Carol to help with breakfast or with a cake she was making for church. She said her arthritis just wouldn't let her bake the way she used to. Sometimes she needed help with laundry as well or shaking out the rugs when her cleaning girl was off. Carol didn't mind any of it. The woman was kind and she always slipped Carol a little cash or something else for her trouble.

"In here, dear!" Audrey called to her from the dining room as soon as she shut the door behind her.

The house smelled like the apple pastries she knew Mr. Winters loved and Carol inhaled deeply, smiling to herself as she walked down the long hallway. When she stepped through the doorway to the dining room, she was shocked at the assortment of clothing spread out across the long, hand-carved mahogany table.

Audrey, carefully arranging an armful of baby clothing, looked up at her and smiled her red lipstick smile. Her lips matched the red linen tunic she was wearing over her immaculate white capris. Even with her gleaming white hair, she could have passed for a woman twenty years younger.

"Wouldn't you know it, Carol? I must have bought all these for the grandkids and then put them in the closet and forgot them!" she told her, holding up one of the tiny onesies made of soft white cotton and dotted with cheerful yellow ducks. "I thought you might be able to use them."

Carol picked up a delicate little sea foam green outfit that still carried its tags, the price carefully snipped away, and felt warm tears filling her eyes. She wasn't sure if it was because of the woman's kindness or the image of her baby, of Daryl's baby, that suddenly filled her mind, suddenly more real than ever. Maybe it was both.

"Audrey – " she began, running her fingers over a tiny cap so soft it felt like cashmere.

"Oh, don't even say it, Carol!" she chided gently, her eyes dancing. "You know how forgetful I am. No sense in all of this going to waste is there?"

Carol hurried around the table to hug her, wrapping her arms around her and inhaling the sweet, powdery scent of Chanel No. 5.

In just a year, the woman had become like a mother to her, much more so than her own had ever been.

She'd long since realized she'd never be able to repay the woman for all she'd done. It was Audrey that helped her get divorced and for that, more than anything, she'd be eternally grateful.

She still couldn't recall exactly how it had happened. It must have been something about having her hands busy kneading dough that loosened her lips and made her spill her guts. She'd sobbed there in the nice lady's kitchen, covered in flour up to her elbows, as she told her all about her marriage and how it had ended.

Audrey had given her a hug, told her to get herself together, and handed her a business card. She'd assured her the person it belonged to would be glad to help her and wouldn't charge a thing; she'd said he enjoyed pro-bono work and had a soft spot for helping women who were escaping a bad marriage.

Carol wasn't so sure that was the case. She thought she knew who had the soft spot and it wasn't Audrey's son-in-law, the very somber attorney, though he had helped Carol with all the necessary paperwork and managed to get the divorce pushed through relatively quickly. Carol hadn't asked for a thing from Ed and she'd gotten exactly that; nothing at all to show for their years together except for the scars on her mind and body.

But it was over. It was actually over and that was all that mattered to her. The day it was finalized, she'd felt like she was walking on air. Daryl took her out to celebrate and they split a large Heath Blizzard from the Dairy Queen.

The whole thing had passed without a word out of Ed, and though she'd never worry Daryl with it, she knew it was too good to be true. She knew her ex-husband too well. But a year without seeing his face was almost enough to lull her into feeling like she might be safe from Ed Peletier's wrath.

"It won't be long now will it, dear? Do you even have a crib?" Audrey asked thoughtfully, pulling back to look Carol in the eye. "Oh, listen to me. Of course you don't have one on hand right now. It wouldn't have fit in that suitcase you brought with you, would it?"

She shook her head and Audrey smiled, "Well, if you're not busy today, why don't we ride over to Evans and see what they've got? My treat."

"Oh no, Audrey, that's too much. I couldn't possibly accept that! You've done so much already!" Carol said and Audrey caught Carol's hands in hers.

"You know, I always wanted to be a grandma. I think I'd be a good one! But my daughter doesn't want children," Audrey told her. "She's focused on her career and I understand that. Most of the time."

Carol nodded. Audrey's daughter was a pediatrician with an office in the next town over.

"But you're like a daughter to me too, Carol. So please, just let me dote," Audrey said with a smile, squeezing Carol's hands.

"Just let me go leave Daryl a note."

* * *

"Hair of the dog that bit ya?"

Daryl's head jerked up in surprise to find his brother standing over him, offering him a bottle of beer. It was sweating something fierce in the hot afternoon sun and nearly slipped right through his fingers as he took it and greedily sucked down a big sip.

He leaned back against the tree he was resting under and sighed. Merle tipped back his own bottle, watching his brother with a smile.

"Reckon you feel like shit this morning," he said, looking like he himself felt pretty damn good.

Daryl groaned and hung his head, rubbing at his aching temples with the heels of his palms.

"Heavy hangs the head that last night got shitfaced drunk," Merle chuckled.

"Man, you just full of little proverbs and shit this morning, ain't ya?" Daryl grumbled, wincing as he looked up at his brother's smiling face, the sun bright behind him.

"Ol' Merle's always full of wisdom, little brother!"

"Full of something," Daryl muttered under his breath, pushing away from the tree and heading for the mower. "Gotta get back to work."

"Wait up a second, will ya?" Merle asked.

When Daryl looked back at him, his brother was grinding his teeth together, his eyes focused on something beyond Daryl's head. He knew his brother only grinded his teeth like that when he was nervous, rare for Merle, or thinking hard, also rare for Merle.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently, rolling the cold bottle back and forth between his palms.

Merle hesitated, "I, uh, I gotta business proposition for ya."

"A what?"

"Business proposition," Merle said slowly, letting the word roll of his tongue.

Daryl just stared, "Well, spit it out. Ain't got all day, do I?"

Merle tipped his bottle in the direction of the main house, "These people you working for…they're pretty rich, ain't they?"

Daryl shrugged, "Reckon so."

"Those two tractors over in that barn, what you reckon they cost? About twenty, thirty thousand a piece?"

"Probably."

Merle tilted his head towards the Dixie Chopper, "And hell, that fancy lawnmower you're riding…shit, that's probably worth at least five thousand on its own ain't it?"

Daryl glanced at it then back at his brother, baffled, "So?"

"So that's a whole lot of cash just sittin' out here in the yard, ain't it?"

Merle drained his bottle, eyes on his brother. Daryl just stared, his face blank, as his brother continued.

"See, I gotta source back in the ol' hometown, told me all about these folks. That's why I'm here, little brother. Know you been yankin' at the fuckin' bit to find me out. But my man said the farmhand, and that's you, little brother which is why I say this shit is pure fate, meant to be…he said the farmhand could get a cut too if he was willing to help out."

"Shit, Merle," Daryl hissed. "No. No, I ain't doing it."

"Come on, little brother," Merle wheedled. "It'll be easy. My man said he'll get rid of all of it. He's got a connection. We ain't even gotta get our hands dirty on that end, just gotta get it to him and collect our cut."

Daryl's head was throbbing more than ever, like his brother was pounding him with a hammer instead of words.

"No," Daryl repeated through gritted teeth.

"Come on. I need you, little brother. You got the keys…you know where everything is. It'll be easy enough. Get the tractors out first and then we'll hit the house. We can just tie the old folks up, they won't be no trouble," he took one look at his brother's face and changed his tune. "Or we could just wait 'til we know they ain't home. Ain't nobody gotta get hurt."

Daryl's stomached turned at the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Winters tied up on the floor and absolutely terrified…terrified of him.

"Hell no!" Daryl growled, closing the space between them to get right up in his brother's face. "Not just no, but hell no! You must have lost your goddamned mind, Merle! I got Carol to think about now. I got a baby on the way! It just ain't right!"

"Come on, don't be a pussy. They ain't gonna miss it. My man told me they was millionaires."

"You fucking stupid? You think they've got a million bucks just sittin' around in that house? It's in a bank, Merle."

Merle scoffed, "I ain't stupid, little brother. It ain't about cash this time. It's about all the shit that cash done bought 'em."

"Like what?" Daryl hissed. "A couple of tractors and some fucking porcelain figurines or something? You don't know what they got in that house."

"No," Merle admitted, "I don't, but I bet you do. And I bet that woman of yours does too."

Daryl tensed, fists clenching, "Fuck no, you ain't bringing her into this."

"Alright, alright. Ain't gotta bring her into it," Merle soothed him, holding his hands up in surrender. "All I need is you."

"Ain't happening," Daryl repeated. "They're good people."

"Shit, little brother," Merle laughed bitterly. "You think them rich people care about you? They don't give a shit. You ain't nothing to them."

"They done good by me and Carol," Daryl told his brother through gritted teeth.

Merle's eyes flashed, "And ol' Merle ain't? You done forgot about why I was locked up, boy?"

Daryl's blood ran cold. He swallowed hard, clenching his fists so tight his blunt fingernails bit into his palms.

"They ain't your kin, Daryl. They ain't your blood," Merle told him, his hand landing heavy on Daryl's shoulder. "You think about that."

* * *

Daryl fumed all day. He cursed to himself, ranting and raving under his breath as he cut the grass.

He went home for lunch to find Carol gone. She'd left a note on the kitchen table saying there was ham in the fridge for sandwiches and that she'd be home in time for supper. He cursed some more, kicked the ancient fridge, and then regretted it, worrying all day that he'd fucked it up.

He didn't see any sign of Merle when he finished up for the day and stomped back home. Carol still wasn't back yet either and the house was quiet.

The clock said it was almost five, the sun was sinking low, and he knew Carol wouldn't have time to make supper when she got home.

Rifling through the thankfully-still-working fridge, he found a pack of sausage and dragged a box of jambalaya mix of the cabinet. Even he had sense enough to make that shit.

He had the rice boiling when he heard the front door open but it was Merle who stepped into the kitchen instead of Carol.

Daryl frowned and turned back to the stove.

"Well, if it ain't Susie fuckin' Homemaker," Merle chuckled, sidling over and leaning on the counter next to him. "Thought any more about what I said, little brother?"

Daryl just glared at him, turning the heat down on the stove and slamming the lid down on top of the pot. There was something nagging him, something wrong about it all besides the obvious that he just couldn't put his finger on yet.

"Come on, Darlena. I told you, ain't nobody gotta get hurt."

"Man, what's wrong with you, bro?" Daryl asked, trying to make sense out of his brother. "Ain't like you to be talkin' 'bout tying them poor old people up and shit."

Merle looked away and Daryl could hear him grinding his teeth again. For a moment, he didn't think his brother would answer but then he looked back at him with his jaw clenched.

"Need the money, little brother."

"For what?" he asked but his brother just stared at him. "Merle, what you need the money for?"

His brother snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, "Owe some people some money."

"That ain't nothin' new," Daryl scoffed.

Merle's eyes were cold, "These ain't nice people."

Daryl stared at him, suddenly understanding, and he felt sick all over again. He stared at the floor for a long time, absently tracing the pattern with his eyes as the buzzing of the overhead light filled the room.

"How long you got?" Daryl finally asked, head in his hands and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Six weeks."

"Goddamnit," Daryl groaned, rubbing at his temples again. "Don't do this to me, Merle."

"Ain't like you don't need the money either," Merle told him, voice mocking again now that he seemed to have regained the upper hand.

Daryl couldn't deny that.

* * *

"You just stop a minute and think about what a little money could do for you, little brother. You could get your woman a car. Maybe rent a place of your own. Shit, it'd buy a hell of lot of diapers, wouldn't it?"

Carol stopped short just outside the kitchen door as she heard Merle's voice inside.

"Stop."

"It'd pay for a real pretty ring."

Her eyes widened and she almost dropped the box she was lugging along with her. And though she knew it was wrong, she held her breath and strained to hear Daryl's reply.

But a reply wasn't forthcoming and he was silent for too long for her to keep waiting.

Heart pounding, she pushed the door open and walked into a wall of tension so thick that even Daryl's buck knife couldn't have cut through it.

For his part, Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Merle just narrowed his eyes and smiled that smile that made her feel like a mouse caught in a trap.

"You sure are a quiet little thing, woman," he crowed, hoisting himself up onto the kitchen counter. "Gonna have to put a bell on you."

She noticed Daryl had supper going on the stove. The spicy smell of jambalaya filled the small kitchen. She left her box by the door and went to check the rice, touching his arm as she passed.

Daryl stepped out of her way, careful to avoid eye contact, but Merle wasn't that type. No, Merle didn't move an inch except to kick his heels against the cabinets, forcing her to squeeze between his swinging legs and the kitchen island to get to the stove. Her cheeks flamed as her belly brushed against his knee and he smirked at her, the devil in his eyes.

She lifted the lid on the pot and stirred the rice, "Thanks for cooking, sweetie. I'm starving."

She smiled as he looked up at her and nodded, then cast his eyes back on the floor.

"Yeah, got you a regular Betty Crocker over there," Merle cackled, kicking the cabinets a little harder.

She frowned at him, putting the lid down a little harder than she'd intended, "You seem to be in a wonderful mood this evening, Merle."

He sucked his teeth and leaned back against the cabinets, "Had an interestin' day, woman."

"So did I," she replied, glancing over at Daryl who was still staring at the floor. "Why don't you make yourself useful, Merle? That crib in that box over there needs to be put together."

He stared at her like she'd asked him to sprout wings and fly to Mars.

"I'm sure you can manage that, right?" she asked with a smile.

Merle pushed himself off the counter and opened his mouth to speak, probably to cuss her out, but then he looked at his brother over her shoulder and she saw him clamp his lips shut.

He stalked over to the box, dragging it behind him and grumbling under his breath as he left the kitchen.

* * *

Carol stared at the half-assembled crib, abandoned in the middle of the living room, and stroked her fingers through Daryl's hair. They'd listened to Merle cussing and banging tools around in the living room while they ate but he'd been gone by the time they finished washing dishes.

Daryl was stretched out across the couch with his eyes closed and his head in her lap.

He'd been quiet throughout supper and it was easy enough to figure out that something must have happened with Merle. It seemed something was always happening with Merle and it worried her, to think of what Merle might be saying to Daryl when she wasn't around.

She didn't think Merle was a bad man but she knew he was a damaged one and it scared her to think of how badly he could hurt Daryl with just his words. That fear, or maybe the pregnancy hormones, made her fierce and she wanted nothing more at that moment than to protect the man she loved.

She remembered lying next to him in his narrow bed, running her fingers over the scars on his back in the silver moonlight and wishing she could have protected him from that pain. She couldn't save him from those scars, she couldn't save herself from her own, but she wouldn't see new ones on him, whether etched into his skin or otherwise.

"Everything okay with Merle?" she asked softly, smoothing his hair back off his forehead

He just grunted in response and she stayed quiet, choosing her words carefully.

"I know he talks a lot but I don't think he means half of what he says."

He opened one eye to squint up at her and then closed it again, "Which half?"

"You're not like him, you know," she told him quietly, looking down at his face, each and every plane of it as familiar to her as her own now. "You could have been but you're not. You're strong and you're good."

He opened his eyes and the expression on his face could only be described as stricken.

"He could be a good man too," she said quickly. "But you already are. He could learn a lot from you."

His eyes searched her face for a moment and then looked past her, staring up at the ceiling. They fell closed and he sighed as she ran her fingernails along his scalp.

"This little peanut is going to have a very good daddy," she told him, patting her stomach absently.

"What'd you call it?"

"Peanut," she laughed, "You know, I've been thinking of baby names and if it's a boy I think –"

"It ain't a boy," he murmured and she rolled her eyes.

"So you've told me. A million times. But if it _is_ a boy, I was thinking we could name him after you."

He frowned, eyes still closed, "Nah, gotta be something better than that."

"What's wrong with your name? I think it's nice."

He cracked a smile, "Bad enough you're saddlin' it with Dixon for the rest of its life. At least give it a first name worth livin' up to."

"Stop," she sighed, hands leaving his hair to smooth the tension from his forehead. "You're a good man, whether you want to admit or not. I'm not telling you again."

"How 'bout Porkchop?" he said after a moment.

"What?"

"How 'bout we call it Porkchop 'til it's born and we see what it is?"

She gaped at him, "Porkchop? I thought you said it wasn't a boy?"

"It ain't. Who says Porkchop can't be a girl? Had a dog once named Porkchop and she was a good ol' dog."

"I guess so," she said, fighting a smile even though his eyes were still closed and he couldn't see her anyway. "Porkchop it is then."

She trailed her fingers down the line of his cheekbones and over his mouth. His heavy lids opened and as his lips parted to kiss her fingertips, she smiled down at him, "Me and you and Porkchop."

Eyes on hers, he turned his head and pressed a kiss against her stomach that would have melted her heart if it wasn't already a puddle on the floor.


End file.
